


the belly of the whale from which we emerged, naked and still dreaming

by perennials



Series: whence [9]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Timeskip Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:55:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23489452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perennials/pseuds/perennials
Summary: Space enough for only one miracle.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu
Series: whence [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1419766
Comments: 10
Kudos: 207





	the belly of the whale from which we emerged, naked and still dreaming

**Author's Note:**

> osamu + window screen

Osamu didn’t want a window screen over their bedroom window but the mosquitoes were especially vicious around this time of the year and Atsumu was going through a major skincare phase. In high school Osamu simply didn’t have rights whenever Atsumu was going through a phase. First there was the lactose-free milk phase. Then there was the Kita Shinsuke phase. And now, with the whole unimaginable mess of the summer stretched before them, there was the skincare phase. Atsumu had elected to fill his hours with elaborate skincare routines and volleyball and elaborate skincare routines, in that precise order. A case could be made for this, given that to Atsumu volleyball itself comprised a series of elaborate routines. He was a creature of habit, though his habits dramatically rewrote themselves every two or three months. As if he had been told perfection was a destination, but no one thought to inform him of its precise location.

Watching Atsumu attach the window screen to the only square of clean, untarnished light in their bedroom, Osamu wondered how much of his personality had arisen as a direct result of being his twin. Perhaps he would have been more carefree if Atsumu had not decided to be carefree first. Perhaps he would have been less stoic. Perhaps he would have been the one to topple out of a tree with a stag beetle still clamped between his palms.

“No more nasty motherfuckin’ mosquitoes in this house,” Atsumu declared. He stepped away to admire his handiwork. He had attached the window screen terribly and with little regard for aesthetics. This was in line with Atsumu’s attitude towards most things unrelated to volleyball.

Osamu wondered how much of his personality had been sacrificed in the name of Miya Atsumu. He imagined that in another version of Hyogo, several thousand miles away, he had been born first. Atsumu would be the whiny dipshit little brother, born three years later into a world which had been long since holding its breath and waiting for his arrival. He would delight in dunking on all of Osamu’s interests but take up volleyball after him anyway. They would practice together after dinner or on weekend afternoons, tossing the beaten-up ball back and forth between them.

Yet in that world as well, he was sure that Atsumu would take volleyball and run with it far, far past Osamu’s starting position in the sand. Atsumu brushed past him in the doorway, humming to himself. Osamu did not comment on the plastic wrapping on the floor, or the corner of the window screen that had not been applied properly.

Perhaps this, too, was a necessary evil. Loose compromises and planned oversights, a silkscreen between their hands. Something which would delay the inevitable separation of boy from clean skin, of acne from heart, of Osamu from volleyball. He would quit after high school. He had been planning to do this from the very beginning, when Atsumu declared that he was going to toss a volleyball into the sun and destroy it.

After all, there would only ever be one crown. Seeing as one of them wanted it a little more terribly than the other, it seemed only fair for Osamu to let it go. Anyway, he was sure that his twin would one day stumble upon it again in a gleaming gymnasium with a vaulted ceiling. In the act of placing it upon his head, he would finally complete the selfish, sacred transformation he had always wanted for himself. Of body into flight. Of boy into living legend.

**Author's Note:**

> talk to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/nikiforcvs)
> 
> collected a bunch of everyday household objects + characters and finally remembered they were a thing last night so here's a quick one (shoutout to gingermilks on twit for this particular combo). it's choppy and not particularly carefully edited, so please approach with caution. nonetheless thank you for reading and stopping by! i'd love to hear from you, though your stovetop is good too. hope these quarantine times are finding you well, and if not, please drop me a line so i can come punt your personal demons into the sun.
> 
> have a good one


End file.
